


The Show

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Caught, F/M, Mando/Reader - Freeform, Masturbation, Pedro Pascal/Reader - Freeform, Praise Kink, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smut, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) - Freeform, The Mandalorian smut, The Mandalorian(The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: She’s alone in the ship and the very person she’s thinking about while her hands between her thighs shows up at the door.*this fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 419





	1. Chapter 1

You’re alone, curled in the soft blankets in the half darkness of the Mandalorians ship, hazy yellow light sines from the spotlights above the bedroom compartments under the deck of the ship. You’ve been bored, waiting and waiting for the return of the Mandalorian, who was up a dawn, walking out of the ship with a quick word to stay there and he’d be back soon.

When asked where he was off to, he gave you no answer.

It’s been hours. You’re bored to tears.

You lay on your back, stretched over the worn sheets and stripped down to thin underclothes, an oversized shirt covering the rest of you, though it hangs from the curve your shoulder and only reaches the tops of your thighs, sensual, soft. 

You’ve never worn this around the Mandalorian, only have slept in it.

The air on the ship is compact with warmth, and the temperature outside is no better, your hair sticks to your skin and the rest of your body is dabbled in perspiration. You huff, turn to your side and stare out the small window, an arm reaching out to pull back the thick covering. It’s nearly dark, you roll your eyes and turn back to stare at the ceiling, it’s dust and odd colours.

As always, your thoughts as if lost at sea, drift leisurely to the Mandalorian.

Companions on a job, hired through the Guild you were sent along with him — much to his own displeasure. A rookie, fast and a smart learner, you still annoyed him. You admired the stony and, seemingly, emotionless soldier. He was rough, gun slinging and didn’t have trouble killing who stood in his way.

And that was the problem, a turned secret locked away. You have found yourself _desperately_ attracted to him.

Shoved down under the name of professionalism and under the orders of his culture, isolated and kept of warmth, of human contact, touch, of distraction and all else that the Way the Mandalorians live by. So you’ve kept quiet, hiding the secret in the back of your mind. Only to have it brought up every time he speaks, deep and smooth voice, you swear his tone gets softer around you, and maybe he looks at you for a second too long — clique, but you’re a hopeless romantic.

Maybe it’s the way he presents himself, a threat, merciless, tough and cruel and _stars_ he’s everything your own mother warned you to stay away from.

Thinking of him, how his hands curl around the gun, fingertips on the trigger and how they had gripped your own hand, pulling you up into the ship as the two bounty hunters escape a planet. He’d always looked out for you. It’s of fantasy and fiction, a mess created in your own mind — of him, so close to you.

It’s getting darker out, the red half crescent sun is setting over the orange sanded planet, it’s grey mountains shaded in the distance.

You wonder what he looks like. Based off his mannerisms, controlled movements and preciseness, he’s agile and fast — you’ve come to imagine he’s ruggedly attractive. To put a face to a mask you see every day is proving difficult. You know he’s strong, muscled and rigid, he’s built like a soldier. You like to imagine he can easily convey emotion through the halmet, but is that just another work of your longing?

Cloaking yourself in darkness, eyes closed, you slip into the warmth of imagination. Your own hands sliding down your chest, tugging at the ties that rest at the centre, they brush over your smooth [skin colour] skin — in place of him. _He’d touch you so softly._ Your hands span over your chest, slide up past your ribs and push up the thin covering over your breasts, automatically arching up into your hands, you sigh — slowly massaging over and brush your thumb over your nipple.

A slow and steady flutter erupts within you, warm flames lick up the seams of your core and just like that — to the thought of him you’re slowly burning up. His lips would ghost over your breast, warm breath fanning over you’d have your hands tangled in his hair, was is light or dark? Curled or wavy? It didn’t matter, your mind runs wild with the idea of his lips and tongue and teeth dragging over your tits, sucking wet and red marks into the skin and biting into the ridges of your collarbones. You inhale sharply, hands filled with your breasts you squeeze, so close to the feeling of what he’d do to you.

Sliding your hand lower you shiver — imagining his voice, raw and filling your ears, thick in his throat and teasing. Goosebumps follow your fingertips as they brush past your hipbones, jumping at the contact, you’re alight with warmth. Lip caught under your teeth you slip your hand beneath your underclothes, following the fantasy.

-

He’s late. After a long and wasted journey through the mountains he’s back, chased by the coming nightfall — the Mandalorian is exhausted, dust soaked and heavy footed he walks into the ship, nearly silent, for he’s sure she must be sleeping. It’s been hours and the suns have set.

He sighs, powering down the ship he unloads the weapons from his holsters, the blaster, the long rifle, string of bullets and then a few blades, he’ll clean them later. Right now he just wants to collapse into his bunk and sleep for the next five hours. He steals down the stairs, then quietly climbs down the ladder, mind preoccupied with the thought of her. What did she do all day? He noticed her bag of weapons was reorganized and the ship was relatively tidier — he’d have to thank her in the morning.

The Mandalorian feels a tug of guilt, leaving her most of the afternoon, trapped inside the ship. He should have brought her along, overly eager and annoying as she is – no. Mando sighs, she’s _not_ personally an annoyance, she’s never been; the girl is her own bounty hunter in the making, strong and willing… he’s only slowly accepting the fact that he’s easily… distracted by her.

Passing her enclosed room, the grated metal floor clinking under Mando’s boots he’s walking past and the doors halfway open he thinks nothing of it, it’s dark and she’s sleeping — he’s paused, was she awake? A soft movement catches his attention, and before he’s stopped himself the Mandalorian peers through the half closed door.

Soft sounds escape her parted lips, her shirts discarded on the floor, hairs a mess on the pillow and her eyes are closed, through the hazy light her skin shines, and under the shadow of her arm the curve of her breast is visible. She’s beautiful and very much awake, not yet noticing him, caught in her imagination she’s whimpering soflty, forcing herself to keep quiet — at any moment the Mandalorian could be back at the ship.

Its dirty and fun to think of, what _would_ he do? You feel the hotness seep futher into you, its dug its short claws into your gut, pulling the waves of arousal though your body, it’s sliding over your nerves, soaking up every thought of the Mandalorian, his voice in your ears and hands on you skin.

The Mandalorians in shock, for a moment the lurching feelings of panic swell, his mind races and he steps backwards quietly as possible, the worlds in slow motion and everything’s fading out. She hasn’t noticed him. Her hand slides past her hips and his breath hitches, she’s pushing her hand over her centre, wrist arched and twisting in time to her breathing, she’s lost in a daze of self pleasure. _Fuck_. Mando’s lungs have stopped working, his breaths caught in his throat and he’s hot under the mask, heart pounding steadily. He’s cursing himself and the stars for putting himself into this situation.

How did she not notice him? He’s too entrapped by her body, curved against the soft bed she’s an arch of threatening beauty, raw and real, she’s trembling by her own hand, his dark eyes follow the lines and soft edges of her, pulling from her the details he’s never noticed.

_Its so wrong._

So deliciously wrong. Fire looms within him and he nearly utters a soft groan as his own body reacts, he squeezes his hands into fists, curling and uncurling them he’s trying to look away. But her hands between her thighs and she’s chewing on her bottom lip, seductive and all alone she’s an artpiece. He’s hot, uncertian of his emotions, of shame and desire, cooling passions and such an attraction he didn’t know he had — she’s uttering a soft moan and lets her hand travel up to her breast.

The Mandalorians filled with conflict, he’s following your movements, curiosity and the building desire, pathetic and longing are mounted within him. He’s never felt the insistence, to calling to just _look_.

You bite down on your lip, you’ve got one hand push up and squeezing your breast, as the others between your thighs, slicked and fulfilling the fantasy of someone else touching you. “ _Gods_ ,” your fingers slip lower to gather the wetness, warm and slippery against your fingertips, you return to circling, the softness of your sex under your fingertips you’re conjuring an image of the Mandalorian between your thighs.

You’d have your hands on his head, a leg thrown over his shoulder, his mouth against your sweet cunt, taking all you’ve got under his tounge. 

“Mhhm, gods _Mando_ ,” you’re choked voice fills the room. You’re keeping a sly smile from sliding over your lips as you are dragging an orgasm closer, you can almost feel it, his tounge on your slick cunt, kissing and licking in place of your fingertips its all you want. You know whats happening, you’ve known all along, felt the certian presence but its not stopped you. If anything, the idea behind the sinful acts are only pulling you closer. You gasp, fingers twirling faster you’ve arched, thighs trembling in waves its all too much and you’re dropping back to the bed.

Your heart beats in your ears, muscles relaxed you’re rapidly fading, spent nearly to exhaustion by just the ideas, the controlled desires of fantasy.

You stretch, softness sliding over the thin sheets, curling around the blankets you’re still smiling softly, the curve of your lips turned into a smirk. “Enjoy the show?” You ask the figure outside the door.


	2. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> much requested part II — ao3 is lucky lmao tumblr had to wait like 2 weeks for this

“ _Enjoy the show_?” You’ve turned to look over your shoulder at the masked figure at the door, he’s radiating panic and something else that makes your skin flush with excitement. The bed creaks as you move to sit up, bare legs slipping off the bed your feet touch the floor and the sheets come with you, sliding along your damp skin it’s covering you under the hazy darkness of the ship. A blanket over the canvas of art.

A smile tugs on your lips and you hear the steady beat of your heart in your ears, it echos around the room and crackles with electricity.

The Mandalorian stutters over an excuse, his boots are frozen to the ground and she’s coming closer, pretty eyes looking deep into him, he feels her dig into his skin, hear his thoughts. He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean-” his gaze lingers on your exposed shoulder, she’s leaning against the doorframe, waiting, innocent and expecting. “I’m sorry.”

You smile. The Mandalorian is sincere, rough voice caught with anxiety, embarrassment at the idea of you thinking he’s some kind of creep but there’s a shred of something, a hint of something Mando’s never felt before. He’s backing up, the clinking of beskar steel fills the ship in contrast to your silent presence. A teasing spark in her eyes compared to the stars they seem dim — it distracts him.

“I should go,” he’s moving to turn away, burning under the armour the Mandalorians wondering just how far he needs to be from you in order to _stop_ feeling this way, the longer he stares at you the more it’s building. _Shit_.

“You don’t have to,” you’re stepping closer and follow the warrior into the openness of the ship, cast in brighter lights, the room is watching, observing, soaking up all the emotions, of frustration, longing and desperation.

The tension hangs thick in the air. They’re drowning in it.

Mando’s breath catches, you’re close and he can almost feel the silky warmth radiate from your body, curling through the air like smoke, stroked from the flames from the moments before.

He’s at loss for words but feels a thousand emotions, sliding under his protective barriers and gently tapping at the walls. “What, what do you mean?”

The helmets tilted down, he’s looking right at you, pushing past your own barriers, a soldiers past and killers face. Mando’s realizing just how entrapped he is within you, caught under a spell, it’s wickedness burning over his form like a thousand dying stars.

“ _I’m saying_ ,” you’ve got that damned smile and he’s done for, he’s letting you get closer and closer and he’s not backing up — he doesn’t want to. “I’m saying I don’t mind if you stay.”

Your words are twisted with a truth, a riddle spun off your tongue, hints of it lie in your eyes. You’re scanning his helmet, scraping for signs of life behind the beskar. Your hands lifts to slide a single finger down the bridge of the mask.

Innocent. Sweet.

He’s thinking, cursing himself — he shouldn’t have looked, you obviously had thought you were alone on the ship, didn’t count on him walking in. Then he’s thrown back into the memory, your hand between your thighs and back arched from the bed, hair a mess and lip trapped under your teeth. Bliss and the feeling of secrets. He shouldn’t have looked. It was wrong, his feelings for you were _wrong_.

But you’re surrounding him, getting closer and closer and it feels so so right.

The Mandalorians not used to being put on the spot, forced under the spotlight and under such intensity — your gaze, bright eyes and wishful thinking. He’s warm under the mask and stuttering over his words.

You wish he’d say _something_ , anything really. But he’s holding your steady gaze and theres something in the air thats screaming at you to do something. “Have I got the Mandalorian rendered _speechless_?”

His ire is burning into you as you step only a little bit closer and he’s straightening up, standing a bit taller and you’re inches away from him. “Something like that,”

You smile. You’ve never done anything like this before, but his honesty and rather nervous sincerity wrapped in fractions of longing has your mind racing and heart beating widly in your chest. The Mandalorian, clad in beskar and the history of a warrior is moments away from touching you, his body so close to your own its only a matter of time, the shift of balance, change of tides. Your eyes blink up to him, pulling ideas of mindless ecstasy to his mind.

“You think of me often?” His words suprise you, deep voice caught, the modulators tone filling your ears delightfully, silky and smooth and its _just_ what you wanted to hear.

“Quite possibly,” a slight blush paints your features, such a simple sentence has you nearly crumbling, molton lava at your feet, “more than I’d like to admit.”

And that just does it, a short flick of a switch and you’re pulled closer, slammed into his chest, the beskar cool under your skin the sheets nearly slip from your hands, not that either of you would mind.

A devious smile turned with a delicious hint of gasp leaves your lips, his hands move to your waist and you’re pressed to the wall, his knee between your thighs its all going so fast, an open invitation. The moment of shock quickly morphs into something so much better, a tease, seductive, alluring. Your eyes are alight and the question is evident, _are we doing this?_

The Mandalorians hungry hands at your waist and tilt of his head tell you _yes_ in every language imaginable. Having to rely on the warriors body language when words left him, you’ve come to be used to his mannerisms, his tell.

“Done this before?” Theres a teasing hilt to your words and the Mandalorian ignores you, under the helmet he’s temped, the cuves of you under his hands, soft voice in his ears and you’re just so close and its been so long. “We gotta do something about this,” your fingertips slide over the front of his mask, bringing the tension back in heavy waves. He’s leaning into your touch and fuck, he’s under your dizzying spell.

He shifts you and the coolness of his armous glides over your bare skin, bringing a gasp from your lips. The Mandalorian contemplates for a moment, trapped under your sinful gaze. “Helmet stays on.”

“Shame.” You shudder in his grasp, his thigh between your own shifts and its just barely enough movement to get you going, rough on the edges, mixed with the air of risk and excitment. Then you push him back, running your lip beneath your teeth you slip past him and you’re back in the very room he’d caught you in only minutes ago.

How times change. Your nerves roll, tight in your stomach there’s a new form of excitment within you and as the Mandalorian follows you, the bulk of him and his armour nearly stealing all the space in the room its all you can do but fall into his arms, let him do what he wants to you. “I’ve got an idea,”

Pulling him futher into your bunkroom, he’s surrounded by half light and your belongings, the beds messy and unmade and he’s thinking of all the times you’ve laid there, swallowed by the sheets and your thoughts filled with the fanasty of him. “And whats that?” His gaze has never left you, almost as if if he looks away, only for just a moment, you’ll vanish and he’ll be left with only the memories.

“Just a moment,” although you and the Mandalorian are alone on his ship, you let the door slide shut behind you, the curtians are already closed and its just you and him inside your room. Turning back to face him you’ve got a strip of soft fabric in your hands, the long edges fluttering along as you present your idea to the Mandalorian. “Will this work?”

He pulls his gloves off, takes the fabric from your gasp and you’re staring at his hands, you’ve seen them before, curved around triggers of guns, the handles of the ship and pressing bullets into chambers, its a whole new light, his hands used for destruction are now thumbing the silky fabric of a blindfold and _gods_ you want them on you, in you, whichever he wants.

His voice startles you, deep and choked. “Get on the bed.”

Then its rushed, the silky fabrics sliding over your closed eyes, his hands behind your head fumble over a quick knot and _there_ , its secure and the helmets off in seconds, landing on the bed beside your form, the visor blank, empty. The hazy darkness surrounds you, all senses of sight are gone and your fingers catch on the buckles of his armour, feeling for him. Mando’s right infront of you. “Well?”

Your insistence along with impatentience amuses him, biting down on a soft smile Mando’s leaning down to kiss you, catching your lips with his own its deep and hot, controlled by the building flames between them, its everythings he’s wanted and more. The sheets slip from the slopes of your shoulders and he’s pulling away to just look for a moment, the semi darkness casts shadows of your skin, sliding down over the ridges and curves of your body. Its intoxicating and Mando drinks in the taste.

Slowly, his hands pressed to your waist and, lead on by softened whimpers he’s sliding it upwards, spanned over your ribs, the Mandalorian paused to kiss you again, lips slated over yours its bruising and stealing the air from your lungs. His large hand pushes over your breast and you both moan, moving back on the bed together its a short tangle of limps and weapons being shed and armour landing in pieces beside the bed.

Its all still unreal to Mando, your body under him, thigh sliding over his side and nails digging delightfully into the soft material of his shirt, its an act of pure longing, twisted with unspoken attraction and the history of between the two of you. Of course, following the gentle ways you’d spoken to him, the helping hand in battle and fiercness of your friendship with the Mandalorian had him thinking of you _outside_ the ideals of professionalism, the sworn oaths and the Way.

“Sure I can’t take it off?” You’re asking, words mixed with his lips and tounge in your mouth, its frustrating, the blindness to the very man you’ve thought of for _months_. You’re greedy, and his lips on your neck and hands on your tits aren’t enough just yet. Mando lifts his head up, leaning over you he’s swallowing your words in a kiss, fingers curled tight under your jaw.

“I’m sure,” his distracted lips melt off your jaw, drag down the lines past your collar bone. 

You huff in response. Nothing is never quiet enough for you, he knows you live for each moment, chase the fun and risk in every situation you’re in. As a fellow hunter this makes you dangerous, unpredictable, and Mando’s finding you are _just_ as dangerous naked and beneath him, sinful words on your lips and hands tangled in his hair he’s almost sure he’d do _anything_ for you.

But breaking the honour of his code wasn’t one of them. He’s whispering dirty promises into your lips and his hand trails downwards, just as you had done moments before his arrival back at the ship his clever fingers slip between your thighs, sparking a heavy rush of warmth straight to your core. Your body curls up to the Mandalorian, brought on only by his touch, so simple, his hand cupped close to your sex, smoothed through the slicked softness, its so warm and wet. “F-fuck,” you’re gasping, senses of touch gone into overdrive and the both of you moan as he’s pressed two digits within you.

Its different each time, theres so many versions of the exact same act but you’re different, you’re alight with something he’s never had before and Mando’s nearly entranced in your body but its only been moments and you’re breaths already picking up, wet cunt tight around his fingers he’s sinkig them deeper, pushing in and out, dragging mewls of pleasure from your lips. “Gods, its so much _better_ ,” your voice is hazy, raspy and soft. “S-slow down, _stars_ , right there.”

The spark of praise hits Mando’s ears light a prayer, theres a lurch of heat at the pit of his stomach, coiled tight and deep, its heavy and he’s caught up in your words, so sinfully full of praise and gentle instruction that the Mandalorians nearly tipped over the edge. He ducks down and finds the softness of your breasts, rising and falling in time with your breathing, they’re lathered in kisses and you arch up when his teeth drag over your nipple.

“You’re really,” the words halt with a moan, hands curl tight into his brown hair you collaspe back into the bed, you wanna tell him how good the Mandalorian is but its all too much. “Fuck, Mando,” your one hand leaves his hair to smooth over your other breast, rather necglected as his teeth tug at the other, sending waves of shivers up your spine.

His voice is quiet, mulled over in the taste of you. “How you feeling?” His deep voice, kept of the mask its raw, human and filled with such deep emotions you feel the very seams of your heart burst. 

“Feeling like I should have left the door open more,” you’re strained, pulling at the threads of release, with his lips on your tits and fingers burried in your cunt its easy to pick up the hints of orgasm. “Thought of you so many times,” your head drops to the pillow, pressing into its softness. “It was never this good.”

The mental images of you spread over this very bed, voice caught on the edge, whispering his name, lost in the throes of self pleasure, of imagination and the colourful paintings of fantasy are killing Mando, he bites down a moan as you squeeze around his fingers, thighs trembling and angelic voice begging him not to stop.

Mando pushes up so he’s hovering right over you, his knees dig into the matress, parted over one of your thighs, its a tangled mess, your half in the sheets and bare, he’s stripped of armour and only clad in dark pants and a loose shirt.

“ _Please_ ,” the whisper leaves your swollen red lips, binded in the darkness of the blindfild, every detail is jumping at you, each slide and push of his fingers against you, the warmth of his breath on your neck in between kisses and soft words, his touches melt over your hot skin like honey, goosebumps follow and each second that passes has you closer and closer. You feel the lines of small scars on his skin with your hands, free to roam the warriors body, they slip under his loose shirt, push it over his shoulders, expose more of his bronzed skin, the hardened muscle beneath.

It nearly leaves you speechless, the rugged beauty of the mysterious Mandalorian; your hand drags up his broad back and slides through his hair, thick and tanged easily in through your fingers, he accidentally moans when you give it a tug, fueling a rush of fire within you. _That’s how he likes it, huh._

You want to know every inch of him, his darkened soul, each imperfection of his skin and everything that makes him yours. You’re distracted and his hand leaves your cunt, ever so slowly leaving you feeling empty. _You were so close._

“Real things better, huh?” His husky voice curls through the air like thick smoke. There’s a rustle of fabrics and through your blindness you help him tug his shirt all the way off. You reach up to cup his face, fingertips grazing over his cheekbones, warm flesh in the place of metal and beskar. Your touch, it sobers him; he was so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten to be soft.

 _It was so much better._ Thing is, it still wasnt enough, his hand in place of yours, curved deep inside your slick while his lips and teeth smooth over your tits, moving to bruise kisses to your lips — there’s still a part that craves more. “You have no idea,”

“I got some idea,” he’s saying, the promise matched with a smie on his lips as he’s sliding between your thighs, his hand smoothed over your leg, lifting it to curve over his side once more. Mandos on top of you, supported by his arms on either side, he sinks down, weighted by desire, just close enough to kiss you. Parting your lips, its all slow and what you wanted to describe as sensual, just enough emotion, soft sighs of your name against your skin and a slip of his tounge to yours. Eyes closed tight under the blindfold a moan catches in your throat, voice soft like early morning suns and the feeling you get when watching the stars.

He’s finally pressed to you properly and you can feel just how much he wants you. He’s so hard, rigid and thick and longing for an ounce of friction, the inside of your thigh brushes against him and his body reacts quickly, shuddering and fueling all that he’s got the Mandalorians desperatly close, his hands finding yours they’re above your head in a instant, wrists crossed and locked in one of his large and dangerous hands.

You think of guns and fire, slain enemies and the taste of smoke; that’s what he is and so much more. He’s ruggedly beautiful, coarse and hardened with the past of isolation, it makes the craving something dark and deep, there’s hints of it in the messy kisses, his teeth clashing with yours, the hard squeezes of his hands in your skin and the desperation laced in the sounds he’s making. Your hands trapped under his, body bare and blind to him, he owns every inch of you, controls the steady pleasure and you’d let him do it over and over again.

There’s a hesitation, his weighted form over yours is a smothering warmth you never want to end, you feel his lips at your neck, nose following the lines up your throat, teeth tugging at your ear, drawing patterns of goosebumps over your [skin colour] skin, searing hot and all his to map. Mando sinks deeper, he wants to speak, tell you how fucking soft and beautiful you are, how you weren’t the only one imagining just what this would feel like. He’s been under the cover of darkness as well, heart pounding in his chest and mind filled with conjured imagines of your body against his, the Mandalorians said your name, whispered dirty things with his hand wrapped around himself, languidly stroking and entangled in the secret wondering if maybe you felt as good as this did.

And you did, you feel so much better and it’s tearing him apart, you’ve taken ahold of every ounce of self control and twisted it into something for yourself. Mando would let you do whatever you wanted with him. But now he just needs to...

“ _Fuck_ me, Mando—” you’re shifting against him and your sinful words, such words he’s never heard you say before, send something deep and hot through every inch of him. “Please,” and he kisses you, tongue dipping past your pretty lips, “ _you’re so good.”_

Those words unlock the next movements, pushing off of you he’s leaning back and tugging the rest of his clothes off, there’s only seconds of space between the lovers and it already feels like eons. His hand releases yours and he’s telling you just how perfect you are, how wickedly perfect. The details, aesthetics laced in the rushed moments are of how the deep yellow lights of the ship pan over their bodies, how the sheets, wrinkled now, have been pushed halfway off the bed, how smoothly she runs her hands over him. The scene is set in something that would never have happened, the feeling of his lips to yours would have stayed a painted fantasty if he had never walked past that open door.

You feel him, sense his very presence through the darkness of the blindfold, he’s hot and theres such a burning intensity swirling in the air, its reminding you of the moments before, of your hands tracing your own skin, cupping your breast and arching from the bed.

Its too much. Then everything happens all at once, the Mandalorians hand slides over yours, spanned over your breast, fingers laced with yours his lips are on your neck and he’s pushing up into you. Catching your surging sounds, damp gasps and soft pleads of his name, Mando feels every inch sink deeper and he’s stilled, the connections compiled in everything he thought it would be, only better. His voice shakes, halted moans are trapped in his chest. You’re tight and warm and as you hitch your thigh futher over him Mando nearly stumbles.

The Mandalorian kisses you. Then he tells you you’re beautiful. Then he fucks you.

It’s real, bruising and hard in all the right moments, waves of the dark blue oceans crashing to the ground, ripples of warmth embedded within. The rawness, slicked skin to skin has every sensation warped to overdrive, you’re filled perfectly and its everything, it’s lighting and roaring winds.

You take each stroke, each messy and uneven movement driven on the churning passions fueled by the shared emotions. Hunger. Control. Appetence.

“ _Gods_ , you’re so good,” your simple words, shaken in between hitches of breath and your lips captured by his, they’re of praise and longing and it’s only spurring him on further, adding hot embers to the fire. Mando’s chasing the idea that he can be better than what you’ve imagined. Your hands still laced with his own and you squeeze, that ever so familiar tug and pull, a winding rope strung taunt. “Just like that, Mando.”

There’s tremors in his breath and his hearts beating erratically within the confines of his ribs, Mando’s never felt this much of a craving, carved deep into him it’s all he can do but grip you so hard, fuck a little faster and forget to be gentle.

The kisses are messy and open mouthed, trailed down your chest it’s distracting him as he feels your hips move in time to match him. He needs you to keep talking, tell him just how you’re feeling, remind him of his humanity. There’s only moments left, you’re tensing under him, pulled to the very edge.

 _Please dont stop._ You press into the bed, the softness of the sheets under your skin in stark contrast to the broad and muscular Mandalorian, its of day and night, gunfire to the smoke of grenades. _Dont stop, dont stop._

The room is hot and the air is thick with sex. The world is frozen in time, all that is alive in the moment is the sparking -- the burning feeling, erotic release and the ever so tempting tugs of seductive urges. It curtians around you, darkness by silk and pleasure by the Mandalorin, his words, deep voice broken whimpers. He’s so deep and hitting all the right places the very air leaves your lungs, you tremble, shaken by sudden intensity. “Oh _stars,_ I’mclose --” and he’s already there, burrying his head in the snug space between your neck and shoulder, fucked out there’s warmth spreading over every inch of you and then its all too much, Mando pulls back and you’re coming up with him.

Sitting back and pulling you to his lap, up and in you at _just_ the right angle, his arms round your waist and cock sliding past your silky slick, your body jolts, caught in his arms, his teeth grazing your jaw. He’s rough in the last moments, but he’ll make it up to you, he’ll hold you close and make turn the world around you soft again. Mando chokes on a moan, the roughness of his voce catches, making the carnal twist _so much better._

Words fall from your swollen lips, mouthfuls of molten praise dripping with thick and sultry longing. Everythings tight until it snaps under pressure, he’s fucking you slowly through it, gripping you harder, muscles tense as yours melt down to golden honey. Streams of everything good in the world leak from every inch of your body, gorgeously wrecked, a chipped statue, broken glass, ripped paintings.

The Mandalorin finally feels the last dregs of longing soak up between you, his eyes are closed, dark lashes brush against your sweaty skin, his lips take their place, grazing from your shoulder to that sensitive part under your ear.

Your chest heaves, stuck on the aftershocks, you’re quiet. Hands slide through his hair, you blindly kiss him, tiredly gentle.

“Speechless?” Mando asks, bringing back the very word you used before, turned with a soft smile.

You’re laying beside him, too warm for blankets but his hands on your skin is fine and you’re thanking the Maker for such a turn of events, brought on by longing and the assumption of isolation it had lead you to the very thing you’d been fantasizing about. “Something like that.”

-

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback is always groovy


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